My desperate plea to lift tiny curtains
Not quite skirts, some mere decorations,
But more like walls, defensive and grim
(Or shrouds! concealing death)
You let hang under your couch-
Hiding your holes
Out of site
And sight of the light of day.

Stretched and twined
Into your deep, collapsing shadows
I'll cry for you-
(So one day you won't have to)
And except (accept) the shameful [-sweet-] sides
Of your soul.

As a quiet mouse in such
Secret sanctum I will carve.
(In my mind)
On my eyes
Every curving grainy slice
(Of you.)
In your floor.

Then
Might I take up residence
In the shelter of your soul
And find space
For it,
For me, and you
(And me)
In the fortress of my heart.